Of Gods and Kings: A Medieval Character RP [IC/OPEN/REBOOT]

[Ravea]

Goring Street Inn, Bismark

Thresher had hardly made a dent in her paperwork when she heard the cries and shouts on the streets below. Opening her window and peering out onto the chaos, she saw the large pillars of smokey blackness rising from the royal keep. Archamicarus squawked as the uncomfortable smell of burning embers wafted into the room. Immediately, Thresher dropped her stack of letters onto the desk and went to the large dresser in the corner of the study.

Frumentis safehouses usually had a small collection of clothing and disguises native to the population available to help agents blend in better. Some in the guild focused solely on acquiring such outfits, bribing morgues to strip the clothes off the recently deceased. Being one of the largest cities in the Realms, this one was particularly well stocked. Thresher undid the the laces of her shitdress and let if fall to the floor as she withdrew a well worn chain-and-leather guard outfit sporting the colors and crest of Victoria.

Removing her smallshirt, Thresher reached into her pack and retrieved a thick roll of bandages. A man would have a better chance of getting into the castle, she decided. Binding her chest tightly, she slipped the armor over her body before tying her hair into a tight bun. It was little lose around the edges and the chainmail chafed slightly, but it would have to do. A moment later she grasped a small brush from inside the desk and opened a concoction of soot and ash, dabbing it onto her cheeks and chin. It would serve as suitable stubble for now though she would have preferred a full beard instead. If there was any sort of excitement at in the palace she would not rely on the reports of a lesser agent. This was something she had to do herself.

Snatching her longsword off the bed, she unconsciously changed her gait to suit that longer stride an average man would have as she walked downstairs to the inn. The patrons were all speaking in hushed tones as they watched the situation unfolding outside. Giving the barmaid in the corner the slightest of glances, she opened the tavern doors and joined a stream of guard and fire brigades all rushing in different directions. Lowering her voice, she jogged up next a fire team.

“What's the situation?” Her voice was much more baritone than the delicate tones of the singer she had been no less than an hour before.

“Fire,” the captain replied gruffly. Thresher roller her eyes. “Something in the castle stores lit up. I've heard some more fires might have popped up too. Maybe accident. Maybe not.” She took hold of a large bucket one of the younger members of the team was struggling with and began a quick run up the hill leading to the keep. As the group passed beneath the arched gate, they could hear a soul shattering scream bellow from deep inside the halls. Exchanging glances, they passed by a veritable horde of guards shouting orders and barking for more water.

The fire brigades had already started their work as they entered the great hall. Giving her bucket back, she was stopped by a pair of royal guards as she tried to follow the fire team deeper into the castle.

“No one beyond this point but fire-men and royal guards. Go back outside and help control the crowds.” One of the men shifted his weight to the large halberd at his side. Thresher nodded, knowing better than to argue. She instead made her way northwards to through a back hall, navigating the passages with ease. It had been years since her last foray into a royal keep, but they were rarely renovated. The smell of the fire was very strong now.

She stopped as she arrived in front of a small watercloset. Praying no one was inside, Thresher opened the door and withdrew a small listening glass from her pocket. Most of the walls in the keep were solid, foot-thick stone, but this particular room was simple wood and shared a wall with the castle kitchens. The flood of noise she received as she put her ear to the wall was mostly garbled and confusing, but she could hear several distinct words including 'Fire,' 'Queen Mother,' and 'Burned.'

She paused briefly. Thresher had met the Queen Mother (though she was still the Queen then) over a decade ago when she was still Padomay. Back then she was green, still stupid and inexperienced. What should have been a simple assignment of retrieving a wheat stalk off the throne turned sour when Queen Adelaide, apparently sleepless, decided to stroll into the solar at the dead of night. Instead of hiding in the shadows like a proper agent, Padomay had frozen like a newborn doe. She and the Queen had locked eyes for an instant before she had grabbed the wheat and skittered off into the night. She still remembered the strength behind that gaze. A strong woman behind a strong kingdom. If she was truly dead the Realms would be far worse off.

Thresher had heard all she needed to. Threading her way back outside the through the throngs of soldiers and commoners, she made her way back to Goring Street. Huge crowds had gathered in front of the palace, everyone craning their necks to try and get a view of the castle interior. Taking the back alleys, she made short time back to the safehouse and immediately penned a letter. It would be sent to one of the Frumentis headquarters in the region and be disseminated among the common agents within a few days.

Top Priority. Cease all harvests. Lioness injured, perhaps killed. Find seeds responsible immediately.

She tied the note around Archamicarus's talons; the large bird hooted indignantly, as its dinner was being interrupted. “You'll get a king's feast when you return, I promise. Now fly fast, Archamicarus.” The falcon cawed, disappointed, but nonetheless took to flight as she unlatched the window. If she could find those responsible for the fire, she could sell those secrets for a veritable mountain of gold. A twinge of sadness crossed Thresher's face. Gold was all well and good, but perhaps justice might be as satisfying.

[Das Germane imperie]

The southern gate of Bismarck city

Grand-master Ludwig sat up on his horse. He had his finest armor on him, newly polished and fresh. The son, mother and father were engraved in black on the chest of his white robe. He rode proudly, flanked by two knights and followed by a dozen more. The gate guards stopped them as they rode in.

"Yes?" He looked down on the approaching gate captain from his horse.

"You are riding into the city with a bunch of armed men sir, may I ask who you are and what your purpose is in the city?"

It flashed in Ludwig's eyes, and his answer came with a thundering voice.

"Can't you see for yourself, captain! Look at the sign on our banners and on our capes. We are men from the knightly order of the son's swords, fighters of the trinity and the 4 realms. We are holy men of the church. Our purpose here is to meet with the king. No more can be said."

"Well, I guess that I could let you in sir" He looked nervously on the greatsword that Ludwig carried. "But I don't think that the king has the possibility of meeting you right now."

"Well, I'll handle that later" He rode in with his company, in a column.

The small, dirty outer streets of the city made him wrinkle his nose, even from the inside of his helmet. It was warm, and Ludwig's armour and fur cape didn't make it better, though it had always been warm. He was used to it.

[Kosovo12345]

Dimitri sat upon his horse looking at his men unloading goods that were "liberated" from a heretic town and now will be sold at a local market. Dimitri was watching what products were unloaded and what were left for his men and said
"Stop, that case right there is very good wine. Put that in the Private Cart now"
The Private Cart was a cart full of goods for the officers and himself and he would not let wine escape his reach. He then went to the center of the camp where he dismounted and went inside a tent, the one full of his commanders and advisers. They will fighting about where to go next and if it was the time to attack a big major city to show their new strength and might. The city in question was led by a barbarian army that was not Christan and only had a standing army of 13,000 however these men would hardly be as good as his small army as they were barbarians.
"If we have a good sell, then we will attack this city, if we have a poor market sell and are likely to go hungry, we will go to the next small town and take what we can." Dimitri said, looking around and silently daring anyone to question his judgement. However, all the men there nodded their agreement and some commented on how wise he was and that was a great idea.
"Great, now that we agreed, lets party eh?" and Dimitri ordered the wine he just sent to the Private Cart and fresh meat to brought to the tent, and ordered 2 men to start playing music. However, Dimitri himself did not stay for this party (The Crusaders hold a party after even a small victory such as raiding a town) and went to his private tent, where he would "examine" 2 girls that caught his eye at the town.

[New Kratopolis]

Arriving at Fort Ironside, Main Camp of the Swords of Solomon.
Fringe of the Iron Height Mountains, outside of Bismarck City, Victoria.

The Iron Height Mountains had some of the largest peaks in the realm, some mountains topping beyond the clouds, as if reaching for the heavens themselves. Not much civilization had settled around here, next to some derelict hamlets here and there, or the occasional barbarian troop. However, none of these eyes would fall upon the walls of the Fort Ironside, located in between the cliffside of a mountain, and a large river dropping from the range itself. While it's warm only in the best of conditions, it's not high enough to freeze its inhabitants, and its location serves for an excellent defense against any that dare to run at its gates. It is for these reasons that Richard Solomon Hallick chose it for his base of operations.

That, and because its original inhabitants were no longer alive to question him or his organization.

Richard, a middle aged man with a stubble that really needed a trim, was riding towards the mountain pass, alongside his lieutenant, a massively built Persican man that calls himself Grunk. Any person that questions this name of his usually ends up with a broken jaw. Richard however, as ridiculous as his name may be, trusts Grunk enough to take the giant man on any trips Richard may take. That was one thing he could always appreciate about his men of the Swords of Solomon. Total, and undying loyalty. That is, loyalty with their coin.

The two of them had just returned from a clean up operation in Bismarck City. A contract had just been carried out at the once proud heart of the Empire, one that offered an awful lot of gold if done correctly. While the deed had been done, one of the agents have been caught by some man calling himself "Lord Warren" or some sort. Richard couldn't let the all that hard earned money go to waste, and travelled to Bismarck City to secure their interests. The agent was killed however, by this "warren", but apparently didn't spill any information about the Swords. While any man can break when under enough stress, Richard makes sure that his men, especially his operatives, go through rigorous tests of durability so they can withstand most forms of interrogation as to not reveal any info on the Swords of Solomon or any of their clients. Good man, Richard thought. Clint was always good with secrets.

Richard and Grunk had made it to the pass, when a crack of thunder boomed across the sky, shaking the earth, as if the Father himself disapproved of their existence. The noise was loud enough to pop Richard's ears, and stirred both of their horses into a crazed frenzy. Richard had to grab hold of his own saddle to avoid being thrown off. Grunk however was not so lucky, and had fallen on his back with a loud oomf. Swearing, Grunk jumped up to grab his steed's reigns before the horse ran off.

"Hold you beast, a little thunder don't hurt anyone." Grunk rubbed his back in pain, "But it hurts me apparently."

Richard could only laugh.

"Well, if you don't saddle up, your back won't be the only thing that hurts." Richard said, "I'm sure you don't want to miss another meal, do you?"

"Oi, that's right, joke about my torment more." Grunk moaned, "We've only eaten stale bread and hard cheese since we left Bismarck city."

"Cheer up mate. Dinner should be ready by the time we reach Fort Ironside, along with our gold." Another boom racked the world. Looking up, Richard could see the clouds getting darker, and could smell the subtle odor of rain. His Uncle Hallick called such a sight a bad omen, a signal for the Four Horsemen to begin their unholy reunion. Richard has followed that advice ever since the words left his Uncle's mouth.

Grunk saw the look on Richard's face, and turned his gaze towards the covered skies.

"A dark sign from the Gods themselves." He muttered, then "It's bad luck to be caught in a storm Captain. We oughta get movin'. The sky ain't going to hold back for much longer. The Father never does."

Richard snapped back to reality, and said "You know I'm not a religious man Grunk." He patted his horse reassuringly, easing its mood back to a calm state. Richard doesn't blame the horse. Even he felt weary by all the symbols. He could feel it in his bones.

War was coming. One way or another.

And for Richard, War always meant profit.

"Come on Lieutenant. Our contractor should be waiting for us, as well as our dinner."

With a satisfied nod, Grunk said, "Those boys down south gonna pay us good, right Captain?"

Richard replied with a broad, toothy grin.

"You can bet your ass they will."

The two rode off into the mountain pass, with the rain right behind them.

[Kheeriin]

King Allister looked upon this mountain of a man. Powerful, yet powerless. He was perfect for the purposes that Allister had in mind. He motioned for his guards to escort Ucheknik to the Wharlish Embassy. He would be given food, drink, bed, and bath in the Embassy, and then he'd begin his formal training in the ancient Wharlish art of Saibrefÿte. In a good four weeks, he'd be ready for Allister's uses.

"Fare well, Ucheknik iz Putosh. I will accept your deal. We will dine this evening in the Embassy. I mustn't be late for today's meeting," Allister smiled evilly, "I think it will be interesting, to say the least."

Allister whirled around and walked briskly towards his carriage. The doors opened from the inside and he rejoined his advisers in discussing matters of the realm. But his mind was elsewhere. Thirty years of careful plotting, scheming and manipulation was about to culminate. He had heard about the terrible situation in Brinehold. And if Brinehold fell, then Hastiaka would shortly as well. Wharland was not known for a powerful army, and the Barbarians would put further strain on their trade routes through the mountains.

The royal's nefarious grin did make Ucheknik feel highly uncomfortable, but he dismissed as false intimidation. He left 4 soldiers to escort him on foot, each donning armor that a Pustosh islander could only dream of and armed with swords, but they weren't curved like the swords of Pustosh islanders. One soldier stood in front of him, one behind him and one at each side. Ucheknik did notice some pedestrians take notice of this idle escort, most looked with confusion.

"Kumpaniza; to Embassy of Royal!" Ucheknik commanded. He and his escort started to march swiftly down Goring Street. Each footstep created a loud clank as metal boot hit cobblestone. At every intersection the soldier in the front would point his sword in the direction the party would go next. Their parading lasted for 15 minutes until they reached the embassy. He had no time to look at it well as he was quickly forced to enter the door.

"King Allister expects you to prepare yourself for dinner tonight, so you must bathe and find more, formal attire," an escorting soldier said to Ucheknik, leading him down the halls like a mouse in a maze. Ucheknik nodded in agreement, trying to not show his nervousness. This soldier was the last of the four, who stopped following Ucheknik as he entered the door. Finally, the two men entered a smaller room, fit with a bed, a chest and a small barrel for bathing. On his bed was an odd tunic and pants, embroidered with a mysterious style. As the soldier left Ucheknik's bedroom, he quickly de-robed, briskly bathed in the barrel and got into the peculiar outfit arranged for him.

I really need to take a short nap, he thought to himself. He hopped up onto the bed and would rest until awoken.

[Asyir]

Ryndar "The Hammer" Steelheart
The Besieged Village, Southern Wharland:

"Sire, the village has been fully encricled by our forces. We have sent word for our infantry to march from the coastline. They are only a few days march away," one of lieutenants known as Red Heart proudly proclaimed. As the name implies, he is of red skin and hair, a large and burly man from the southern realm. Ryndar knew him to be a ruthless and efficient battle commander, despite his Cael descent.

"Good. Let's make quick work of this village, then head home eh?" Ryndar responded, holding back his vicious grin. They had just returned from the Gaellic lands not a week ago, after months of unhindered raiding. The sellsword had no love of the uncivilized heathens, and felt no remorse for slaying them as the animals that they so often bedded, or at least Ryndar assumed bedded. It would account for the smell and filthiness of the southern people. "We need to get our bearings again. Maybe gather some more men, get a contract or two, then return south. God knows those barbarians need to be kept in check."

Red Heart have a nod of approval. Despite being Gaellic, he felt no love for his kin. All he desired was coin and women, as Ryndar well knew. "We should burn this rubble of wood they call a wall and be done with it. Round up the women and children, and slaughter the men."

Ryndar nodded. With a flick of his wrist, he ordered the archers to fire. "Use your oil and light your arrows ablaze. Let's send the rats scurrying into our paws. All together now! Fire!"

The twang of bows filled the air around them. It didn't take long for the dry wooden wall to be struck from the hellish flames, with some parts slowly being lit afire. Militiamen along the ramparts poured buckets of water down upon the battlements, in a futile attempt to control the blazes igniting throughout the wall. Dark plumes of smoke rose from behind the wall, as the archers fired another volley, this one throwing men from the battlements in pain. There was no sign of remorse nor guilt in Ryndar's eyes or voice that night, only smiles of wickedness and nods of approval to his men. Within hours, the small village surrendered, and came rushing out of their burning city, tears and looks of pain upon their dirty faces.

Still, Ryndar felt no remorse, even as a mother held a dying infant, badly burnt from the red flames. Instead, Ryndar's men moved in with ropes and chains, and clasped them to men, women, and child alike, judging them fo decide their ultimate fate. Some would make excellent warriors, if he could turn them, but that was highly unlikely. Instead, he would slaughter the men and women, and take the male children, and mold them into soldiers.

The screams of death and the dying filled the air that night. The stench of rotting flesh was in every breath. By dawn, the city was a smoldering ruin, and the people dead outside its walls.

"Make sure we cover our passing here. We don't need an army to track us down. Leave no banners or other keys of identity. Let's make this look like a Gaellic attack. Throw some axes and wooden shields about," Ryndar ordered. He hoped that this would lead to increased conflict between Valloria and Cael, as conflict leads to coin in a mercenaries pocket, and perhaps more power and influence for the ambitious sellsword.

[Ravea]

Brinehold

The messages from the North had arrived very early in the morning, practically three o'clock. Lord Siltshield was not disturbed by the courier who delivered them; these days he found little time or use for sleep. He thumbed through the documents lazily, reading the typical replies. No men available...trust in your walls...he had expected no more than this. The minor earls of the South were already mostly tapped out of resources as it was, and the North was likely holding its forces in reserve, waiting for the Barbarian army to make its next move.

That next move would likely mean the doom of Kennick's house.

He was about to throw the rest of the letters into the fire warming his bedchamber when he caught the royal seal of House Wharlaey in red wax. Kennick quite liked the Wharlish; they were a practical people, much like his own. Many, many years ago he had traveled to Wharlton with his father on a trade negotiation. He remembered admiring the splendid warships moored in the city's great harbors. Kennick chuckled as he recalled how, upon his return to the marshlands, he had wanted a frigate of his own to sail the swamps.

He opened the letter with reservation. There was little use for Wharlish naval power here. Kennick's eyes widened as he scanned the paper's contents. Five hundred cavalry was a relatively token force, but a very mobile one. This opened up a range of new tactics, and thoughts of glorious victory played out in Kennick's thoughts. Barbarian savages were rarely able to resist mounted professionals. A quick glance outside brought him back to reality. Even with a good cavalry regiment at their backs, his own men would barely be able to hold the walls.

The food was much more vital. King Allister's land was known to be fertile and rich with trade, but a million bushels of food was an incredible commitment. Trained doctors would be perhaps just as vital; Kennick had been drawing up desperate last-ditch battle plans to hurl plague victims from the battlements, but he much preferred his population to be healthy and alive.

Lord Kennick was unsure if this news could help save his city. The Wharlish would need to cross bad terrain and likely would run into enemy war parties along the way. Wharlish boarders were hardly a few days hard march, but it was entirely possible that the shipments would be intercepted, or the additional soldiers would arrive to see the city already sacked. If the savages found out about the aid they might attack immediately. Still, help was coming, and that was far more than he had hoped for.

Reaching a quill, Kennick began to pen a letter as he began to feel sleep take him.

King Allister. It gladdens my heart to see that some in the North still have concern for their southern cousins. The supplies and men you have dispatched will be vital to our survival. I can only pray to the Trinity that they arrive in time. I am not a political man, but I beg that you help my Lord Tullestedt convince the rest of the lords to ride to help us. Anything House Siltshield can to do aid you in return for your help will be done. You have my promise.

Kennick motioned for a sleep-deprived aid to take the message to the aviary immediately. Hope for the hopeless, he mused. The dawn might bring new hope and a glimmer of salvation. All he could do was wait.

[Valloria]

Lostock, Wharland

Prince John Wharlaey was having a very good day. Being second in line for the throne of King Allister, he was the Lord Commander of the Guard. This meant that all of the sensitive diplomatic missions that involved the Guard¹ were headed by him. Through this, he had gained valuable experience from his advisers in his 21-year life. And at this very moment, he was heading to the famed fortress of Brinehold, home of Lord Salt-n-Pork, as he was affectionately known by all that were skinnier than him, which was pretty much everybody.

In this mission, he was leading five thousand infantry in the escort of five hundred of his father's best sworn knights, who were in turn appointed to aid Lord Siltshield in his defense of Brinehold. Also being escorted were one million bushels of various crops of Wharland. This number would barely make a dent in net trade, but for a city like Brinehold with a population of about 20,000, it was enough to hold on for at least two years. Several trained field medics and plague doctors were also amongst the escorted. These were to help Brinehold, well, hold off the plague.

It would take two days for the force to reach Brinehold. It'd only be seven hours if it were just the riders, but with all the cars of food and the infantrymen marching alongside them, it was impossible to do so. And if they went ahead alone, they'd be overtaken by the Horde. The infantrymen were there only to defend the knights and the food until such time as they were able to enter the city. Then the troops would once again cross the river Oculaz and return to Lostock to be disbanded across Hastiaka. Hopefully the food and knights would be enough to turn the tide.

If they did, Lord Siltshield would be a valuable ally in securing the throne of Bismarck for his Lord Father, King Allister. With Siltshield as eyes, ears, and a mouth inside Tihres², the Tullestedt vote would be closer to a guarantee than it is now. But if he knew his father, ever a man of charm and wit, the Tullestedt family would be convinced to cast their favor towards Allister. And just imagine it. "Emperor Allister of Bismarck." His father would be a good ruler. A fair ruler. While he may not give two shits about commoners, he makes sure they are kept very happy. After all, rebellion is so annoying.

---

¹ The Guard is Wharland's land-based military division. This is in essence the Army. Wharland's standing army numbers about 10,000, including various city guardsmen and other officials. But up to 60,000 men can be called at a time without risking Wharland's economic output. But said 10,000 are formally trained and battle-hardened by years of combat with Barbarians. Any called troops would be relatively inexperienced, but more than enough to challenge the wild combat styles of the Barbarians.

² Tihres is the fortress wherein the Tullestedts currently reside, ever since the destruction of Dalandt.

[Chedastan]

Bismarck City, Kingdom of Victoria

Despite beating the man to a near bloody pulp, the mysterious man remained silent to Warren's questioning. While annoyed by this, Warren in a way had some sort of respect for the poor fool, still refusing to say anything in spite of a intimidating terror like Warren. Fresh blood oozed out of the man's mouth, most likely from a few cuts from inside of it, not surprising, given that Warren was using his gauntlets that had little rounded studs on the knuckles. With not much care, he threw the man against a nearby wall, probably causing even more bruises, and perhaps a broken bone even. All the man could give was a helpless yelp. Warren stood over him, and without any change in tone, asked once more. "Who are you, and what's the meaning of this?" The man simply coughed and spat blood at him. "How charming, a man of great words." Warren violently grabbed the man by the hair of his scalp. "I'm not going ask again, because honestly you're not actually worth any of my time, as I got much more important things to do that torture you to all high fuckin hell unfortunately! Now tell me you damn fool, who the fuck are you, and what is the meaning of that?!" The man still remained silent, and even composed. Not amused by this no more, Warren starts viciously bashing the man's head against the wall, until the man's head was then really just pulp. There wasn't even much of a skull left when he was done. The stain left behind on the wall would probably be there for some time, a lasting memory of the violent action that took place. A young peasant girl then ended up having the misfortune of seeing the event take place when she had walked in on them, her shrieking made them acknowledge her brief presence, before she ran away from the sight. Another lasting, traumatic, memory of the violent action that took place. Not that Warren and his retinue really cared about what other people thought of their brutality.

Warren let go of the corpse's scalp, and look to his retinue. "Well that was entertaining for a short time. We shall continue then, unless one of these fuckers feels vengeful, but I have a feeling of doubt on that."

Orris was then checking the dead man's pockets, looting some coins and some other things. He looked up at Warren. "Well I will say this m'lord, they at least know you now. Maybe they'll call you 'Lord Warren Valkir, bringer of justice and brutal murder, also will scar your children for life.'" Orris chuckled.

"That seems about right, Orris, though I;m not so sure on the justice part." Warren chuckled as well, before they left the scene to continue onto the Royal Keep.

---

Upon entering the Royal Keep's grounds, Warren had his retinue had already known about what had happened at the Keep, thanks to the screams of people on the streets when they were heading to the Keep, and the guards running all over the place. The Queen had died, through what Warren could only assume was clear malicious indent, given the apparent arsonists running about. Despite the chaos happening all around them, Warren's retinue actually wasn't very alarmed at all, as their matters here didn't concerned the Queen needing to be alive at all, only that the King will be able to receive their sign of goodwill, and parting gift. Warren had already figured that they probably wouldn't be able to do their show of goodwill in person, and will probably have to get the next person in the Keep to do it perhaps, Arthur's sister maybe. Just get her to say what they came here to say, and give the King their Lakir Blood Gemstones, simple as that. They were pretty much at the entrance of the Royal Keep at this point, or at least one of them, they didn't really have a map of the city with them. He wondered if the guards would just assume they should let them in, as they were perhaps the only retinue in the City with four large towering men clad in Valkir plated mail armor, who else would the guards think it could be?

[Skaixeque]

Pompier Xixeries
The Royal Keep, Bismarck City, Kingdom of Victoria

With the guards all running a muck, Pompier took the liberty of sneaking into the servants entrance in the court yard. As he was thinking, he was going down the passage way, So the queen had died, well then this will be interesting. Who knows what secrets i will be able to find here, well first thing first is to act like a servant and then go from there.But I will admit, a castle is one of the few places I get to explore. Pompier entered the Kitchens and scanned the area looking around for guards and who seemed to be in charge. After all the best source of gossip would be from a head servant. Since they over heard almost what ever their masters talked about. He finally managed to find a window where he could see the whole courtyard and he was now looking over the area seeing who would be coming to the keep. But he knew if he got into a fight his shoulder would kill him.

1 week ago

Pompier hit the ground hard with a thud, he had just broke glass from a second story building and landed on the balcony below. He smiled and looked up to see the owner and two guards with bows pop their head out the window. His smirk went away and he darted off the balcony on to the ground floor. How could I have been so careless to not watch the guards movement around the study? I could have been caught or well I did get caught I could have gotten myself killed in this little job. It was supposed to be a simple job get into the study, steal a few papers and letters and then make my escape to the tavern in the local town about two hours by walking.

Several arrow shot past him as he was running through the courtyard towards the gate of the manor. The manor lord was shouting, "Get that damned thief! What in the hell am I paying your guards for if you cant catch a lowly thief!" Pompier turned his head gave a bowing gesture before before trotting out the gate and then sped back up as several more arrows flew past him. He tucked the papers into his little pack and traveled on the forest path that he had used on his way to the manor.

Once he got to the Winking Griffin and opened the door, there was a huge wave of beer, music and people talking. His employer was sitting in the corner where he said he would be, Pompier had a feeling it was a noble. But he wasnt sure and he knew better than to ask questions, the less he knew about his employer the better it was for everyone. Pompier always made inferences but he never followed up on them as it could mean his death if he tangoed with the wrong person. Pompier ordered a pint at the counter and headed over to the table and checked over his shoulder before handing over the documents.

"There you go, that is all the documents I could find bearing the seal. I checked for secret safes and room in the study, but I couldn't find anything and I am sure you will find sufficient evidence or what ever your trying to find in those papers. Now, how about my payment that was promised?" Asked Pompier as the man thew him the bag of gold. It was smaller than he had expected then he heard the rattle of chain-mail get closer. "Really, your one of those kind of people." Argued Pompier as he kicked the chair behind him threw both of his daggers at the men before charging and bring them both to the ground. Then he hit one of them in the face repeatedly with a pint that once held his beer. Then he grabbed his dagger and fought with the other man until a women smacked a chair against the mans back. Pompier bowed and then turned to see his employer had a bow and shot him in the shoulder. Pompier then threw his dagger and nailed the main in the chest cavity and then threw his other dagger and his the other side of the chest cavity. Then he charged the man and brought him down before slowly turning and pushing the dagger into the mans heart.

[New Kratopolis]

Inside Fort Ironside

Richard and Grunk rode their horses into the old gates of Fort Ironside, a bastion of stone and metal that had changed hands a number of times in countless of wars and other squabbles. The fort itself would be an intimidating sight for any attacker; its soaring stone walls topped with old battlements now bristling with guards and archers armed to the teeth. Previous to the acquisition of the fort, it had been an outpost for Gaelic explorers and miners seeking to make a bit of coin. Once the Empire came about, the fort was conquered and used for a trading post within its expansive borders. After the Empire fell, it had been attacked, conquered, burnt, and rebuilt in those troubling times. Richard had found it with his Uncle Hallick, then the headmaster of the Swords of Solomon, while on a contract for a Vallorian merchant. At that time, it was inhabited by a small band of thieves, who were using it as a sort of hideout, and had stored their gains in a dug-out cave. The thieves were dealt with, the loot taken, and like that the castle was theirs. Overtime Richard had updated many of its facilities and accommodations, as well as its defenses, until it became the impressive fortress it is today; The headquarters for the Swords of Solomon.

As the two of them dismounted, Richard watched the gates close to make sure they had not been followed. If a spy from a rival group or kingdom could manage to find their fort, they would be forced to either evacuate the castle and take whatever they could, or try to defend against any army they sent against their walls. While technically the Swords was a legitimate business, others would call them heartless criminals, and Richard has no doubt that there are those that would want to return all the favors that had been given to them.

Another crack of thunder shook him to reality, as the skies unleashed their full fury on the ground below. Richard watched as both men and animals alike ran for any shelter available, trying in vain to escape the downpour of rain. Richard was already soaked to his very bones, and rushed to reach the fort's keep. The fireplace was already lit inside, and the warmth of the room hit him like a mule. Grunk came in behind him, as Richard was shedding his coat. They were in the dining hall, and Richard's men were already digging in. The aroma of baked ham, crab, and other delicacies tempted his nose, as he changed into something more dry.

One man approached the two of them, a hedge knight with the name of Randall Langdon. He had served in the Swords of Solomon under Hallick Solomon, and was one of the most loyal men in Richards employment. If it wasn't for his criminal record, Richard would have made him his lieutenant.

"Welcome back sir." Randall said, his mouth full of warm bread. Swallowing, he said "On a swell time too. Our client was just starting to grow impatient." He turned to Grunk, who was already digging into a leg of chicken. "I see you're already busy" he chuckled.

"Get stuffed." Grunk muttered through his mouth.

Richard grabbed some bread and said, "Take me to him. I don't want to keep the man waiting any longer."

Randall nodded, and motioned towards the hall, leading Richard towards his personal office.

"How go the operation in Bismarck city?" He started, "I was told that Clint was captured, yet the other three made it out just fine."

"Everything is secure. Any trace pointing towards our involvement have been removed. Clint though.." Richard hesitated, "Well frankly there's little left of him. My guess is that they tortured him for quite some time, before just giving up. His death was... messy. They looted his corpse and left to, Mother know where."

"You think Clint got us compromised?"

"I don't think so. Clint wasn't much, but he sure was a damn good liar."

They remained silent for some time, then, "I heard many rumors from Bismarck," Randall said, "There have been reports of arsonry, and chaos is rampant. The king's mother, the queen, is dead, along with several more."

Richard stopped dead in his tracks. His face was pale. "The queen? That wasn't part of the mission. The fire was supposed to be a diversion only. Nothing more" The tall man rubbed his face. Richard never held anything against King Arthur, but they would likely have to pay reparations for the loss. That is, if they find out.

"How much, exactly, would we have to pay in collateral if they found out."

Randall thought for a moment, then just shrugged. "At the least? 50,000 gold for the fire alone. For the queen though?" He shook his head. "That's a hangable offense." Seeing the dread on his headmaster's face he quickly added, "But I wouldn't worry too much sir. If the rumors hold true, it would seem that the blame is being placed on the Christian fellows and their Paul the Holy. I wouldn't be surprised if they had actually committed the deed."

Richard held his head in thought. While the queen was an unfortunate loss, Randall was right. The religious tensions within Victoria has reached an all-time high. The pro-Trinity kingdom would most certainly point fingers at the Christians, looking for any excuse to wipe out the heresy. All they had to do was sit back, and capitalize on the conflict.

But Richard wouldn't let these events ruin his night. After all, they still haven't got paid.

"Come on then," Richard said, forgetting about the queen, "Our client is waiting, and so is our reward."

---

(OOC) Sorry if this ends abruptly. It's late and a man has to sleep.

[Asyir]

Ryndar "The Hammer" Steelheart
Southern Wharland, near the city of Grensburg:

The column of riders continued on the large dirt road that led towards the small city of Grensburg, located in southern Wharland. Ryndar and his company had marched for several hours, and now fatigue was taking its toll on the riders. They needed to stop and rest somewhere near the Gaellic border, as the barbarians have become more agressive lately, striking the northern realms with much tenacity.

The city walls soon came in sight to the riders. Ryndar stopped his company with a motion of his hand. He wasn't about to descend upon the city with nineteen hundred men. "Red Heart!" He shouted out, summoning his lieutenant to the front of the column.

A large burly man on red stallion came forth. The man wore large black plate, with a massive battle axe strapped upon his back. His jet black helmet had horns of ivory on each side. Red Heart rode up towards Ryndar, standing tall and proud in his saddle. Coming up towards his commander, he asked,"What news sir? You called for me?"

Ryndar reared his horse around, facing the huge man. "Yes. We cannot take a force such as this into Grensburg. Have the men make camp here, while me and my knights go into the city."

"Yes sir!" Red Heart aknowledged. With a loud slam on his breast, he turned around and ordered the men to set camp. Ryndar led twenty of his finest horsemen forward towards the city. After an hour or two, they arrived at its gates, where they were stopped by several guards.

"Halt! By order of the warden, state your business sellsword!" The guard sergeant said, grimacing at the sight of the banner being held by a rider. The Crimson Brotherhood was known to be cruel and ruthless, and was not well liked, being compared to a banditry company. However, they were quite skilled and always finished the job. "What brings you to Grensburg?"

"Nothing but my need of rest, food, song, and women," Ryndar responded with a smirk. He was unafraid of these guards, even if he was at the walls. They were nothing but conscripted pig farmers, untrained and undisciplined in war. He could cut through the five of them now, like butter. Ryndar was sensible however, and was aware that even an army of shit farmers could easily swarm his smaller force. "I mean no trouble to you or your township. You have my word."

The sergeant replied with a grunt. The town needed the coin, and so he ordered for the gates to be open. Ryndar rode through the tightly packed streets, navigating through the thick traffic. Eventually he found a suitable inn, and after dismounting, went inside with several knights in toe. They found a table, and after ordering a meal, began their merrymaking, well into the night.

[Cymrea]

South of Bismark City, Victoria

Argus was not his name, but it was his name for time being. He had worn many names over the years of his service to the Elm, like masques to disguise his true identity and to be discarded when no longer useful. So often had Argus done this, that it was difficult to remember the name his mother gave him. But the Elm required sacrifices and, as far as those went, a name was a relatively painless one. He was nearly ready to cast off this latest name – along with the tattered dark robes he wore – and become someone else.

A rough wagon came up the small road towards him, its iron-banded wheels squealing on their axles. On the driver’s bench was a non-descript man of middling age, wearing a straw hat. As the wagon neared, the man tipped his hat with his left hand, extending the last three fingers. Argus returned the gesture meticulously, tugging the edge of his hood.

As the wagon passed, the man tossed a small bundle to Argus and kept on juddering up the road without another glance. Argus caught the bundle, quickly scanned the area and, seeing no one else, dashed behind a hedge.

The loamy soil at the base of the hedge was soupy from recent rains and Argus was easily able to scoop out a hole with his bare hands. He quickly pulled the robes and foot coverings off and dropped them in the hole before scooping the mud back over it. With a few leaves and twigs from the hedge sprinkled about, he obfuscated his work. Now naked but for his smallclothes, Argus washed the mud from his hands in a small puddle and untied the bundle.

Ninety seconds later, a completely different man came striding out from behind the hedge. He wore a light vest over a simple tunic and leggings. On his feet were soft shoes with real leather soles intended for travelling – perfect for his cover as a courier. Tucked into his belt was a scroll, along with a knife and a small purse; the scroll was sealed in the sigil-stamped wax of a lesser House of Victoria, and ostensibly addressed to another minor House in the southern marches of Royeg. Ensuring there were still no other eyes about, he continued south along the road.

Yohan was not his name, but it was his name for the time being.

---

Westernesse, Royeg
Near the Atharthan border

A westerly wind soughed across the lowlands of southwestern Royeg. Like an invisible tide of warmth, it rolled through the shoulder-high grasses, swaying the long blades and stalks in broad waves. To Reannon, it sounded much like the small bay on the Rhunic Ocean where she had briefly lived before dedicating her life to the Circle of Druids; the grasses were even the same green as the coastal waters.

To the east, a disorganised herd of Atharthan barbarians trampled the grasses in their unhurried march north. They were less than a longbow’s shot away, but with the high grass and the setting sun behind her, they would not have spotted Reannon.

Or her own small army of Atharthans.

Reannon’s barbarians were of a much higher quality than these unwashed mudfolk marching across her view. These were Atharthans from the southern marches that bordered Persica, who shared the same beliefs in trees and the Trinity as their neighbours. Her infantry were armoured in chain hauberks and coifs, and carried Persican war axes and round shields. Ironically, the fine steel from which the equipment was smithed originated in the mines and forges of Royeg, traded to Persica among the uncounted merchant barges and caravans that crisscrossed central Brettonia.

Arrayed behind the infantry was a long double line of archers with longbows. At this range, and the concentration of the undisciplined rabble, only the least experienced of bowmen would fail to hit their mark.

Assembled on each flank was a company of a hundred druids and caens of the Order of the Blackthorn – expert handlers of Persican war dogs, bred for battle. Mounted cavalry would have stood above the grasses and given the ambush away, so Reannon had left them on the Atharthan side of the border. The hounds were muzzled to keep them quiet, even as they strained slightly at their leashes. Reannon’s army was downwind, and the dogs could smell their prey.

Though only a druidess within the Circle, she held the rank of Captain within her Order, a seasoned commander of trained killers. She too was a Blackthorn, her grey-green robes belted in the raven hue of the crows that feasted at every table she served. And her mercenary dish was ready. She nodded to her serjeant of archers.

“Archers, nock!” he called in a baritone that carried over the wind. Two hundred arrows, fletched in grey goose feathers, were set to bowstrings.

“Draw!” At the second command, some heads among the barbarian enemies turned their way, perhaps squinting into the sunset. “Loose!”

A thick flight of arrows burst into the evening sky and, as they reached the top of their arcs, were followed by a second flight, then a third as the serjeant chanted the orders in a rhythmic mantra. “Nock! Draw! Loose!” The first flight started down, narrow birds in a death dive.

Some of the enemy mercenaries managed to get their own crude shields up, but few of those were very effective. The steel points plunged into leather and flesh, punching with brutal force, raining down in consecutive showers. As the ninth and tenth flights were loosed, Reannon bellowed orders to the infantry. “Ready, foot! Advance!”

The axemen trotted forward in formation even as the last of the arrows swooped overhead. Reannon kept pace behind them, unlimbering her war axes and hefting them in both her hands. She shrieked invectives at their enemy and inflamed the bloodlust of her troops. “Stand or flee, fight or kneel, it is all the same! There is no respite, no quarter, no hope for you! We are the bloodtide and we will drown you all! Charge!”

Her axemen roared in response and ran at the enemy, those that survived the arrows. Some did stand. Many fled. As the last of the rabble made to escape, Reannon plucked a red scarf from her robes and waved it over her head. With that signal, the wardogs were unleashed.

None of her enemies survived.

As was Blackthorn custom, the dead were dragged and piled in one massive heap; the task took all of her men a number of hours to accomplish. When it was finished, the pile was set ablaze. Her men set up their tents for the night and the druids formed a circle about the pyre and chanted hymns to the Father and Son, and to the Mother above all.

By the time the sun reappeared in the east, Reannon and her Atharthan mercenaries were back across the border. Upon arriving at her operational camp, she sent ravens to Poltweith and Dalandt.

[Kosovo12345]

Dimitri looked over his men and was proud. He was going to the city Cael and he decided to make a show, bringing 2,500 knights (the best ones) and 2,500 of his most fittest men and they were to march almost nonstop till they get to Cael. He ordered a small break as many of them rested and talked and shared food/drinks. His own second in command, Captain David, was left in charge of his forces that were left behind and now Arthur would take David's place at Dimitri's side. However, Dimitri disliked Arthur because he had strong control over a small force of 500 knights and 1000 men who flew his banner that joined the crusaders not too long ago and they were coming with Dimitri (OOC: This was put in to make a power struggle a reality) and Dimitri heavily disliked the fact. However, they were very good and he wanted to have a strong group with him in Cael, and he had no choice but to ask Arthur to go with him.
"Alright men, the rest is over. Next time you have a moment to rest, you be in Cael or you're dead" Dimitri said the last part with a smile and the men who could hear him laughed and 3 trumpets went off, signaling the time to march. As his horse started moving, Dimitri looked back and hoped that David was smart and didn't attack some barbarian force with only half of their regular men.


David watched his commander, Dimitri, leave with their best troops and sighed. He was in position to do anything now but wait for them to come back and he hated that, feeling like a sitting duck. He already was on a hill to give them some defense and sent some men with money to buy as much food as possible because he didn't need a hungry group of fighters without Dimitri there to calm them down.
"Sir, spies have reported that they seen 50 men that looked like barbarians hidden down in the woods at the south base of the hill, i have already ordered for the south part of the hill to be more reinforced but i felt like i needed to tell you this" and minor officer said.
"Good job officer, but i would also like for patrols to be sent to check out the areas 5 miles or so around the base of the hill" and with that, David dismissed himself and walked away, feeling the fear of being in charge with a small force.

[Cymrea]

Royal Keep, Bismarck City

The Grand Hall was all but prepared, with silken streamers in the colours of House Cunningham arcing between the great columns like upside-down rainbows of red and black; considered too sombre on their own, gold streamers were intertwined. Banners of the royal and vassal Houses from Victoria, Wharland, Pinekent, and Royeg hung from the joists and from the walls. Dozens of long tables filled the hall, with gorgeously handwritten name cards marking the places of each expected guest. The arrangement of noble guests, placed with the utmost care in orders of precedence, had required such meticulous planning as to put a campaign strategy to shame. Candelabras and chandeliers bore thick candles of beeswax, the subtle scent of which sweetened the air. No fewer than three great stone hearths were loaded with wood and ready to roar with flames. In the end, all was made ready to execute an historic event that would see a High King elected.

King Arthur of House Cunningham stood at the entrance and gazed absently at the hall. Though the event was the culmination of a lifelong ambition and dream of Arthur, it all seemed to lack its previous lustre. The death of his mother was a terrible blow to him. The world had slipped slightly out of focus and he felt numb. But his duty and this election was far too important for Victoria and all of Ghondra. He made a conscious effort to push his grief down until he had the luxury of time and solitude to give it vent; his grief would almost certainly give way to rage and a campaign of vengeance would follow. For now, he must assume the mantle of royal host to the Ghondran elite.

Before long, the guests, each with their entourage, would begin to arrive. Arthur marched off to his apartments to finish his own preparations.

[New Kratopolis]

Fort Ironside

Richard stepped inside his private office, with Randall right behind him. While Richard was the headmaster of the Swords of Solomon, his private quarters wasn't as extravagant as he would like it. Much of the money they get from contracts and benefactors goes straight into the organization and the men that operate it. Even then, his office is one of the nicer rooms in the whole fort. A chandelier illuminates the whole room from the ceiling. Excotic animals he has hunted is mounted on the walls, and his desk and door is mahogany. It could be better for sure, but Richard enjoys its rustic charm.

But Richard wasn't focused on the decoration. The strange man pacing in the room center took his attention instead.

The Persican man was nothing to look at physically; short and hunched over, he walked with a limp on his right leg. He was wearing nearly all black, from his robes to his shoes, and a Trinity pendant hung from his neck. While he looked unarmed, Richard's past experience with most Persicans advised otherwise. His two bodyguards stood silently , each to either side of the room, clad in black and gold armor and visors covering their faces.

These particular Persicans bore the emblem of the House Aranea; a gold spider with a jagged dagger running through it. Aranea was, in all shapes and forms, the Persican equivalent of Richard's House Solomon. That is, a powerful and wealthy house that achieves said wealth and power through illegitimate and illegal means. Aranea is affiliated with the Order of the Elm, a largely mysterious organization that rivals even the Swords of Solomon when it comes to strength. While there are few who even know of this group, Richard knows enough to not snoop in their business.

The robed man turned towards Richard and Randall with a tired look. They were trying his patience, Richard could tell.

"Finally Mr Hallick, I was starting to believe that you weren't coming!" The man spoke seemingly relieved, but with underlying tones that could piece a man's heart. Richard found himself gripping one of his short swords, and took a second to relax himself.

"You'll have to forgive me Mr.. err.." Richard said. He never got the man's name.

"Please Mr Hallick, my name is of no importance." The man said. Anonymous client then. Not as unusual as one might think. Richard continued.

"You'll have to forgive us sir. My lieutenant and I had important business that had to be dealt with."

The man swept aside his apology, and put on a friendly smile, though it looked forced. "No worries my friend. If nobody was patient where would we be on this earth?" He laughed softly, and started pacing again. "But back to the matter at hand. I assume that the uh, operation was a success, yes? Have the documents been secured?"

"Yes of course. I think Franz has them." Richard turned to Randall. "Get agents Franz and McGee in here." He laid an eye on one of the guards. They will want to meet our friends here."

Randall nodded, and quickly walked out of the room, leaving Richard alone. He looked at the guards again, noticed how tall they were, and turned to his client. "I'm sure you understand how big of a job this was." He said, "And, of course, how much it will cost you."

The man glanced at the headmaster "Yes, the price will be settled once I see the documents."

Richard didn't budge. "One of the most guarded places on the whole of Bretton, and my men just strolled right in, stole the goods and burnt down half the damn building while they were at it. All of this, and I don't even know your name." He sat down at his desk. "But I think I know what you want."

The man stopped pacing and laid his unnerving gaze on Richard. They remained that way for a while, then, "What do you mean? What are you speaking of?"

Just then, Randall appeared with agents McGee and Franz behind him. Franz had a bundle in hand containing the stolen documents from the palace.

"Here they are sir. Got the goods too." Randall said, taking his place next to Richard. The two agents backed to a wall, apparently intimidated by the man's guards.

"Good. Franz if you please." Richard motioned for the basket. Franz walked forward with the goods in hand, with the eyes of the guards boring into him, looking for the first sign of danger. He laid the basket on the desk, and Richard fished out a scrolled up document with the seals of Ghondra on display. "I believe this is what you want, yes?"

The man eyed the document greedily. "Well, indeed it is. Well done Mr Hallick, clearly you had everything in hand. I'll take that off your hands if you please." He reached for the scroll, but Richard pulled back. There were still questions that needed asking.

"Before I left for Bismarck City, I took a peek in these documents, and I can't help but wonder why anyone would need these." Richard stood from his desk, walking around to the front, "Battle strategies for Ghondran battalions, a detailed map of defenses and fortifications along the southern border, not to mention a floor-by-floor layout of the Royal Palace itself. One has to wonder what a nation like Persica would need with these."
The man stood with no emotion on his face. He was just unreadable. "What's even better, is that when I get back home I find out that the bloody Queen is dead, which wasn't even part of the job! So i'm starting to think there's something you're not telling me!"

Richard glared at the man. "I've been in plenty of wars mate. But I've never started one. I want answers. Now."

The man hesitated, as if he wasn't used to being threatened anymore. His guards were poised for attack, hands on the hilts of their weapons. Randall and his two agents stood on defence, ready to block any strike. Tension filled the room, and every second felt like an hour as the silence dragged on. For a moment Richard had just wished he had kept his mouth shut.

His client sighed. "Fine. I suppose you do have some right to know." He motioned to his guards, ordering them to stand down. "It's true that Persica desires these documents for special reasons. Mainly, it's a contingency against potential Ghondran aggression. If war does erupt - and the evidence all says it will - we will be ready for anything they send at our borders." He looked at Richard with an earnest look. "You must understand that we do not want war... We are just preparing for it. It is inevitable with all that is going on."

Richard didn't buy it. He had learned early on to be a bit cynical, especially to his clients. He knows that there's a line separating the liars and the ones who speak the truth. And this Persican was definitely the former. But he has been taught that the client was always right. This man is no exception.

Hesitantly Richard nodded, and said "Alright. And what of the Queen? Was she just another contingency?"

"Ah. Yes, the Queen." The man said, with a stain of distaste, "The Queen was an ... unfortunate loss. A casualty in a plot she had no role in. The fire, as I am aware, was initially just a diversion, from your real goal." He looked at the document in Richard's hand. "Besides, you and I both know that accidents happen, like with your Agent Clint. Another unfortunate loss, for a working man to die at such barbaric hands. Now Mr. Hallick, if you just hand me the documents we will be on our merry way."

Richard scanned the man, and sighed. It sounded like another lie, but all evidence said it was just an accident. But he couldn't be sure with Aranea. Their deception held little bounds. He pinched his brow, suddenly tired of the conversation. He just wanted to get paid.

He looked at his client one last time. "Fine. But first our payment, as discussed."

The man grinned, and snapped at his guards. They exited through the door, and returned with three wood chests. Richard's curiosity overwhelmed him, as the last was place on his desk. The crate's frame was ornate, and it looked heavy. His hands found the latch, and tentatively he cracked it open. It was filled to the brim with gold and silver coins, enough to buy an entire army. It had to be ten thousand gold coins at the very least.

Richard grabbed a handful of coins, and felt them in his palm. "How much total?"

The Persican thought for a moment, then "At least? Thirtyfive.. Forty thousand gold coins. That's all three combined of course. I wasn't lying when I said there would be a hefty reward for this job."

Randall gasped. "By the Father... Captain, that's enough coin for a whole town!"

Richard stared at all the riches for quite some time, mesmerized by its glowing charm. At last he closed the chest with a thud. Then he laughed and smiled at the client - His new best friend.

"Alright mate," He said, grinning like a madman, "You've got yourself a deal."

"Excellent. The gold is yours." They shook hands, unaware that they had possibly just sealed the very fate of Bretton. The man took the documents and placed them all in a small basket. He motioned for the guards, and the three of them headed for the exit.

"Oh and Mr Hallick?" The man spoke to Richard, halfway out the door, "Do not forget us. We may require your services again." And like that, he was gone, the greatest secrets of Ghondra with them.

Richard was lost in stunned silence. This was undoubtedly one of his largest payments yet. 40,000 gold.. Richard thought to himself, What can we do with such wealth?

"Sir?" Randall piped up, "You okay captain?"

The headmaster grinned. "Aye. Get Grunk and the rest of the crew together. Drinks are on me tonight!"

[Jorliefstreiken]

Duke Harold would stand on the steps of Darkholme his black hair being pushed by the wind. He looked down at the young man below him and held the ancient sword Dragonsfang in his hand. He asked the man "any last words?" The man would shake his head. Harold rose Dragonsfang and With one clean cut removed the mans head. Darkholme needed a thorough cleaning of the Cult and he planned to move through it like a sword through warm butter. He had also come to observe the illumination of the first page of his chapter of the chronicles and to revive the blade he now held. After this it was a trip to the Carroc in the foothills just before the lowlands. Harold do not understand why James ever wanted to be lord of that god forsaken rock. He hated the way the cliff it was built on could collapse any minute. But James can have it. He had all of Marok the lowlands to govern. His cousin and his brother could keep these mountains. Not that he didn't like Darkholme, it was als,out as homely as Marok.but still it was cold up here all year and the war ears in the dungeons constantly roared from within the keep. Now that his business was done he walked back within the great hall his bearskin cape draping behind him. He sat down in the old seat of the family and began to hear rumors of cultist activitys. Hopefully he could finish this quickly and then descend again.